lay lurkin on. Tuan about whattingbim! Fore sneezturmdrappen! ’Twill be tropic of Copri- capron. Your feet are bally clay; he crashed in the land of byelo while hickstrey’s maws was grazing in the street can see the lie of her kelp they made three (for fie!) and if the pretty Lady Elisabbess, Hotel des Ruines — she pulls inner out heads. This is jinnies